


To Shake the Earth

by Gyomei



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyomei/pseuds/Gyomei
Summary: Himura Kenshin in the world of Avatar. One non-bending Earth Kingdom Citizen will change Ba Sing Se and the world with his blade. Takes place before Aang comes out of his iceburg.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	To Shake the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not so sure where to place this story(chronologically), but around ten years before Katara splits the iceberg sounds safe-ish.
> 
> "Dialogue"
> 
> 'Thoughts'
> 
> |~:~|
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Avatar, that I don't.

He was the son of an Earth Kingdom farmer. His first eight years were spent in a small village south of the Northern Mountains and just north of West Lake, the legendary lair of the Serpent. Even in his childhood, Shinta was different. His hair was a strange reddish color, completely unheard of for even the village elders. In the sunlight, it would appear orange, the same shade as Kinmokusei, orange flowers which were known to grow in clumps among the shrubbery surrounding the village.

However, on days where the sun was shrouded in clouds and at night, the hair was maroon- the color of blood. Shinta was told that when he was born, the midwife kept washing his head, thinking it was stained with blood from childbirth. Some villagers even wondered if Shinta, who hadn't a drop of non-Earth Kingdom blood, was somehow tied to the dreaded Fire Nation. Also, it didn't help that Shinta's eyes were a soft violet, uncharacteristic of most Earth Kingdom people.

As a result, he was ostracized, a stranger in his own village. The adults shunned him, and the children taunted him and threw rocks. However, no matter the abuse, Shinta never grew angry nor flew into a rage. He would cry a little in the beginning, yes, and he would sometimes frown- his face reminiscent of adults decades older- but he never retaliated in any way. "That's my gentle boy," his mother used to say, a smile gracing her worn face. And he would smile back, eyes closed in happiness.

Two weeks before his eighth birthday, the second-to-last person in his village died of disease. If the illness had a name, nobody in the village knew it. If it had a cure, nobody would receive it. Shinta's parents were one of the first to succumb, with fits of coughing, vomiting, and fainting overtaking their bodies. On his father's last day, Shinta could hardly bear to look at him anymore. The first person Shinta ever buried was his mother, but she would not be his last. It took Shinta two days to dig that grave, another one to properly see her off, and another crying by her grave. A month later, he could dig two graves and send two people off into the next life in one day.

He did not cry anymore.

For some reason or another, Shinta was completely unaffected by the illness. Was it fate? Luck? "It doesn't matter," Shinta mumbled to himself. "I can still move and breath, so I have to help." Two weeks before his eighth birthday, everyone who lived in the village, save Shinta, had died or fled the village.

After three days of huddling in a village hut, Shinta decided it was useless to linger any longer. He gathered the remaining morsels of food, wrapped himself in a ragged cloak, and left the village where he was born.

His village was very isolated, so it was without any real paths leading out of it. For a boy of Shinta's age, the going was rough. His routine for the next week or so was simple. Get up, eat a small breakfast, walk until noon, eat lunch, walk until dusk, start a fire, eat dinner, sleep. He traveled by the lakeshore, so he could quench his thirst when he needed to. "I'm running out of food," he thought out loud. "I wonder if I could catch a fish from the lake." Of course, Shinta was without a fishing rod, and even if he had the forethought to bring one, he knew not how to fish.

It was almost twilight, the sun just about to surrender to the night. Splotches of orange were visible over the horizon, and the world seemed to be bathed in a soft golden light. Shinta's hair seemed to glow, like embers in a fire, in the waning sunlight. Suddenly, Shinta spotted a campfire not far ahead. He had been so engrossed in the landscape, that he did not notice the campfire until it was less than 4 stone throws away. He noticed several figures sitting around the campfire. Before Shinta could think of whether or not to approach the group, something hard slammed into the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

|~:~|

When he woke up, his first thought was, "Mama?" But when he opened his eyes, it was not his mother holding him, but a young-looking woman. Shinta rubbed his eyes and looked around. It seemed to be the morning, and there were nine people he could see. Seven of them were tied together, ropes loosely fastened from neck to neck. There seemed to be a fair amount of rope between every loop however, so there was plenty of space for everyone to sit around the campfire, now a pile of ashes. They were dressed in ragged clothing, holes and dust clearly visible. The two unrestrained people were dressed far better, if still rugged. One of them, a middle-aged bearded man, was sharpening a curved dao. The other, who seemed a bit younger, had his legs crossed and took occasional swigs of something from a gourd flask.

"Looks like the weird kid is awake!" he proclaimed loudly. Shinta thought he caught a scent of alcohol, a breeze carrying the acrid scent to his nostrils. "We're gonna take you on a little trip, boy. It'll be fun! You'll meet new people, see new places, y'know!" He then laughed uproariously. "Make sure you don't run off, or the wolves might get to ya!" The young woman frowned a little and took hold of Shinta's hand. However, she and the others said nothing.

"You drink too much, Cho," the older man grumbled. With a grunt, he got to his feet. "Alright, it's time to pack up. Let's get moving." Within minutes, the camp was dismantled, and the caravan of slavers and slaves started walking. They were slowly leaving the forest, the trees disappearing into meadows. Shinta, walking beside and holding the hand of the woman he woke up with earlier, thought that the procession didn't quite fit in with the scenery. The bearded man led the group, the slaves following in single file. The drunk man followed in the back.

"You have beautiful hair."

"Oro?" Shinta had never heard anyone compliment his strange hair. Even his parents had only tolerated it, and had not truly accepted it. Perhaps if the epidemic never occurred, things may have changed.

"You have beautiful hair. It's like the sunset, " the young woman laughed. "My name's Akane. What's yours?"

The surprised look on Shinta's face quickly changed into a smile. "My name's Shinta."

"Nice to meet you, Shinta," Akane said. "Things might seem bad, but we'll get through this together, promise?"

'I didn't understand any of that except the "nice to meet you,"' Shinta thought. 'But I like her voice, and her hand is warm!' "Promise!" Shinta replied.

"Hey, quiet back there," the bearded man yelled. They stopped talking, but shared a smile as they walked.

The next three weeks passed without much incident. Akane introduced Shinta to Kasumi and Sakura, two other women in the caravan, which was apparently headed towards the west shore. Kasumi was about Akane's age, with hair the color of freshly tilled earth and a reserved countenance. She stopped Shinta from eating some questionable mushrooms when he was hungry. Instead, Kasumi gave some of her own food. Sakura was younger than the other women, only sixteen years of age. She had a laugh that would somehow make Shinta feel giddy, his fingers and toes tingling with warmth. Shinta would always find it in him to laugh with her, no matter the situation. Sakura would brush Shinta's hair sometimes, scolding Shinta for not taking care of such a treasure. Together, the three women took care of Shinta, acting like the older sisters he never had. When they found out it was his birthday, they gathered some sweet berries for him to eat. Even though they were slaves, Shinta had never felt happier in his life.

"We're almost there," Shinta heard the bearded man, whose name was Chuji, say. "It's a few miles to Feng Lin village, and then another few to the shore." It was almost the end of autumn, and the leaves on the trees were the color of burnished gold. Shinta wondered if he would be separated from Akane, Kasumi, and Sakura, and the very thought made him grip Akane's hand tighter.

The caravan reached a clearing in the forest. Chuji paused for a moment, and then kept walking. He heard a rustling sound behind him, and something falling to the ground. 'Damn slaves,' he thought, and turned around. However, what he saw was Cho on the ground, an arrow lodged in his neck and his left hand still gripping the gourd flask. Chuji drew his sword in one practiced motion, but he would never get to use it. A spear sprouted from his chest, and a spray of blood stained the ground. Shinta was frozen in terror. Some drops of blood had landed on his face, but he made no move to wipe it off.

It wasn't even a fight. The slaves fell one by one, slain with no means of defence. When Shinta saw Sakura's body fall, he cried out and tried to run to her side. 'I have to help. I have to do something,' he screamed in his mind. Just as he made his frozen body move, he was pushed to the ground by Akane, who shouted something he didn't understand. Shinta pushed himself up, his thin arms straining with effort. He saw Kasumi standing still, a defiant expression on her face as a swordsman charged towards her. Shinta saw a sword on the ground, the dao that Chojin had. He tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy for him. He had to watch the bandit slash Kasumi from shoulder to hip, blood erupting like a geyser. Shinta could see eight men, all wielding swords, spears, or clubs. No slave nor slaver, save Shinta was left alive.

He was brought back to his memories of the village at its end. He alone survived its destruction, but this time, his chances of survival were much more slim. Strangely, Shinta didn't break down or start crying. He terminated his futile efforts in lifting the dao, and he stepped forward. 'Be brave,' he thought. 'Be brave like Kasumi.' But when a sandy-haired bandit raised his weapon for the kill, he couldn't help but close his eyes. A moment passed, and nothing happened. He opened his eyes, and he saw the man who was about to kill him on the ground, blood pooling from his throat. A massive man with black hair tied back in a ponytail stood over the body. He was wearing a white cloak, and he flicked blood off his katana.

"Who are you?" one bandit yelled. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It would be pointless to give my name to one who is about to die," a deep voice answered. Following that sentence was a whirl of motion. Blood flew, limbs were severed, and one man was even sliced clean in half. What started out as a massacre turned into a bloodbath.

Shinta stared at the carnage before him. "You're pretty unlucky, boy. The war with the Fire Nation has shattered the peace in the Earth Kingdom, " the man said while cleaning his sword. "There's a lot of soldiers turned bandits. Nobody wants to be on the front lines, and many become bandits like these degenerates. I just happened to be here to take your revenge for you." the man finished cleaning his blade and sheathed it. He looked straight at Shinta, his dark eyes boring holes into Shinta's being. "No matter how much you hate or how much you suffer, you can't bring the dead back to life. The same thing is happening all over the Earth Kingdom these days. You should be glad to be alive. If you go to the village and tell them what happened, they'll find some way for you to make a living." The cloaked man turned around and walked away, leaving Shinta alone, the stench of blood permeating the air.

|~:~|

Hiko Seijiro XIII gulped sake from a flask. "The world may change, but good sake is forever." He sighed, and turned his head towards an old man wiping cutlery. "Hey shopkeeper, did a red-haired boy come by your village?"

The shopkeeper shook his head. "Nobody has come to this village for the past month. It's not trading season yet, and if there's no business to do, our village can't offer much."

"Bah, you sell yourselves too short! This is the best sake I've tasted since that inn in Hao Meng down south." Hiko got up, and started walking.

"Hey, where are you headed?"

"There's something I've got to do, and then I'm out of here. I don't think we'll cross paths again, so this is goodbye."

"Eh? Uh, sure. If you ever happen to stop by here again, I'll treat you to some of that damn sake you love so much."

'So that boy never made it to the village. Did he despair of the world and commit suicide? I wouldn't be surprised. Even wielding a blade, following the precepts of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, in the end I couldn't save anyone. It's happened so many times. An age warped more towards madness with each passing day, infested with villains that I kill and kill like flies. It will only get worse from now on. The only thing I can really do is lay the victims' body to rest. Three days ago, I thought that he had the will to survive. I suppose I was wrong.'

|~:~|

Hiko returned to the place where the bandits were ended. He stepped out of the forest path into the clearing, bracing himself for the worst. His eyes widened in shock. The man who slaughtered scores of men without a second thought was rooted in place, his cape swaying slightly in the breeze.

That kid with the red hair had buried everyone. He even placed crosses made from sticks over every grave. Now, he stood over three stones. Hiko could tell that they were also graves.

"Kid, are you an earthbender or something? Nah, you look too wimpy. So why did you dig graves for the bandits, as well as your parents?"

"They weren't my parents. They were slavers. My parents died of disease months ago. But even bandits and slavers are only bodies when they die, so I made them graves."

"And what about those stones?"

"Miss Kasumi, Miss Akane, and Miss Sakura. They were slaves too. I only met them three weeks ago, but they still took care of me like family. I wanted to protect them, but I was too weak. I looked for good stones for their graves but these were the only ones I could find. I looked for flowers too, but I couldn't find any."

Hiko stood still, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. He then poured the rest of the sake in his flask onto the gravestones.

"Oro?" Shinta questioned, thoroughly confused.

"Man or woman, it would be a shame to enter the Spirit World without knowing the taste of good sake."

Seeing Shinta's still-confused expression, he clarified, "It's an offering from me." Shinta understood that, at least. "What's your name, boy?"  
"Shinta."

"That's no name for a swordsman." Shinta froze. Hiko saw surprise, and perhaps hope, in his violet eyes. "From now on, you're called Kenshin. I'll teach you all I know."

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the first one. Any reviews and favorites are appreciated, especially reviews on my story format.  
> Song of the Chapter: Kashmir - Led Zeppelin


End file.
